


Sharpshooter

by needles



Series: Bokuaka Detective drabbles [80]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needles/pseuds/needles
Summary: One move and you're dead...
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: Bokuaka Detective drabbles [80]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116251
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Sharpshooter

The ropes were biting into his wrists; he could feel the dampness there as well as the pain and knew it was blood. The chill from the damp stones of the wall at his back was permeating his bones and the griping ache in his stomach gave witness to the fact that he hadn’t eaten for days. But that was not what was occupying his mind now. His kidnapper had introduced him to his pet.

All Keiji’s considerable attention was focussed on the swaying shape in front of him, dimly visible in the faint beam of grey light that sneaked into the cellar from a tiny ventilation grille at ceiling height. Keiji was using every ounce of his formidable self-control and concentration to hold himself still. The icy beads of perspiration that ran down his back and his forehead were ignored. He could not move. He _must_ not move. Keiji knew that the cold eyes watching him were less sharp than his own but acutely aware of movement. To his observer he was a signature of pheromones. It could sense his presence but it was not yet sure what he was; animate or inanimate, potential mate, potential food or enemy? Anything living would be bad news for Keiji, but his body scents could not help but betray him. He could not hope to convince it that he wasn’t alive, no matter how still he sat. It was now a waiting game. If he made a sudden move it would assume a threat and strike like lightning. Keiji knew enough to know that it was deadly if help was not forthcoming quickly, and there was no help for him in this place. He had been left here to die.

It tasted the air, tasted him, his fear. He sensed it waiting for the right moment to strike. Keiji almost willed it to put him out of his misery but that steel core of self-preservation still held him in its grip. There was still hope, his heart said. In his head he mocked it, rationally there was no hope. No one knew where he was. If by some miracle Bokuto tracked him down and opened the door to his prison right now it would surely strike, startled, and threatened. They were hours from a hospital, Bokuto would find him only for him to die before his eyes. For his sake Keiji hoped he came too late for that.

He lay on his belly in the dust, as he had done many times before, his gun steady, trained on a moving target. Stilling his breathing by force of will until everything else was shut out and all he could see was the swaying head of the full grown King Cobra through the narrow slits in the grille. Willing his old skills to stand him in good stead now. Wishing he could warn Keiji but knowing he must not. He watched the reptile’s rhythmic movement, tuning his body to that of the snake until he squeezed the trigger.

The shot was deafening in the small cellar, Keiji’s ears rang as he curled himself up against the wall shaking. The fifteen foot body of the snake lashed itself across the floor; blood spurting from its death throes, while the lifeless head lay in the dirt. Minutes passed while he crouched disorientated in a heap, until the door flew back and a pair of strong arms enfolded him, whispering soothing words and kissing his face. Bokuto freed his bloodied wrists, hissing in anger at the raw skin around them. Keiji wrapped them around his neck, heedless of the pain and thanked Bokuto’s God for making him a sharpshooter, _his_ sharpshooter.


End file.
